


Broken as I am, you still have all of me

by A_fighter_like_Eowyn



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathing/Washing, Best Friends, Boys In Love, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort/Angst, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Geralt bathes Jaskier, Geralt takes care of Jaskier, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jaskier comforts Geralt, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Protectiveness, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Soulmates, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Soulmates, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, True Love, Werewolf Reveal, Werewolf Turning, Werewolves, geralt comforts jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_fighter_like_Eowyn/pseuds/A_fighter_like_Eowyn
Summary: Geralt watches helplessly as the body thrashes on the ground in unbearable agony. Watches as the enormous black werewolf tears the animal's flesh into tattered shreds.And then, for a fleeting moment, their eyes meet.Cornflower-blue eyes glitter like sapphires as they stare into Geralt's own amber-gold ones. They reflect nothing but pain, and a desperate plea to Geralt."Run, Geralt! Run!"
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Triss Merigold, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Triss Merigold, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 11
Kudos: 193





	Broken as I am, you still have all of me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [panofaar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/panofaar/gifts), [Geraskier_Rights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geraskier_Rights/gifts).



It has been two years since that fateful, accursed incident following the dragon hunt atop the mountains of Caingorn. Two years since Geralt sent Jaskier away. 

"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take _you_ off my hands! If life could give me one blessing, Jaskier, it would be to cleanse me of your obnoxious, maddening presence! Just ... BEGONE!"

His teeth bared in a feral snarl, his eyes blazing like chips of cinder, Geralt hurled the cruel, vitriolic words at his bard with a ruthlessness that was unprecedented even when considered coming from a cynical, foul-tempered, acerbic-tongued Witcher hardened by all the rejection and harshness and brutality of the world around him. 

Jaskier's face crumpled immediately, and the bard slumped forward, the usually proud shoulders drooping slightly as he silently took Geralt's rebukes, flinching as they struck him like physical blows. His eyes brimmed with tears, his lips wobbled, his frame quivered as if he was teetering on the verge of collapsing. But in the end, he collected himself, bid Geralt goodbye with not even the smallest hint of anger or bitterness in his tone, and slowly walked away.

Geralt stood there, his heart twisting until it was all he could do to not keel over in excruciating agony. The bard would never know, but even as his own tears were streaking down his face leaving tracks in the layer of dirt that smudged his cheeks, his Witcher was furiously brushing away at his own tears, determined to keep up the stoical facade he and his Witcher brothers had been taught so well to maintain during their years of training in Kaer Morhen.

And when finally, eyes still stinging from the unshed tears pooling there, lips pressed in a thin line, arms hugging himself, Geralt turned around, Jaskier was long gone.

*******************************************************************************************************

Geralt sees the pamphlet nailed to the creaky door leading to the tavern. The village alderman has written an imploring message to any passing Witcher to help the villagers - they are at the mercy of a rampaging, marauding werewolf who has killed several people over the last few months. 

Werewolves are rare. One becomes a werewolf only upon being bitten by one, but werewolves do not bite to simply create more of their kind -- humans are their prey. Or choice prey, anyway. Most of the time, a werewolf attacks a human in order to kill and eat, and most humans succumb to their inhuman, brutal strength. Very few humans survive an assault like that, and those are the ones who become werewolves in turn.

Werewolves are forced to transform into their bestial selves every full-moon night. On other nights (or days), they can stay human if they choose to. But most werewolves develop a taste for human flesh, and from the urge to sate their desire, they choose to transform and hunt nearly every night. It is also a myth that werewolves cannot survive on anything other than human flesh, or that humans are the only beings to whom werewolves are a threat. Werewolves, despite possessing an inherent urge to hunt humans, are entirely able to survive on flesh of wild or domesticated animals. But very few choose to restrain themselves in such a manner.

Unlike commoners, Witchers know full well that those who are branded monsters are often misunderstood. Geralt, in particular, is very careful when it comes to hunting down monsters and beings created through freak mutations and ill-cast magic that are emotionally no less intelligent than humans themselves. Werewolves are one such class of monsters. He, therefore, decides to seek out the alderman and have a word, and then corroborate the alderman's claims by speaking to some of the villagers.

It turns out that indeed, this werewolf has become synonymous with mortal peril to the villagers. It began with hunting fowls and chickens and then cows and goats and sheep, but eventually, it turned its attention towards the humans of the village. And over the last several months, it has hunted down nearly a quarter of the villagers, with children being the most vulnerable.

It is this last bit that acts as the final nail in the coffin -- Geralt, fully convinced, takes up the job and promises the alderman the werewolf's head in the morning.

There's still a few hours of daylight left, and there is no chance that the werewolf would be stupid enough to show up before it is fully dark. Geralt walks back to the tavern, to fill his belly with some good-quality meat stew and some ale before heading out for the hunt.

And he is distracted enough that he doesn't care to spare a glance at the occupants of the tavern.

*****************************************************************************************

The werewolf is a colossal monstrosity, and covered in sable fur on top of that. Geralt, even with his highly enhanced senses, barely hears it coming. And as a result, loses the split second advantage of prior knowledge when the werewolf pounces on him out of the blue.

The sheer magnitude of the force with which it lands on him is enough to hurl him across the clearing in the woods, and he is lucky that he is dashed to the ground instead of being impaled on a tree-branch. The impact knocks out his breath, and he gasps for air even as he feels wickedly curved talons penetrating his stout armour and sinking deep into the flesh of his shoulders and lower back. Pain spreads like wildfire through his nerves, and he fails to stifle an anguished sob. The werewolf pins him down with its weight, and he feels its rumbling laugh. The stench of its hot breath as it lowers its hideous, slobbering mouth to his ear nearly chokes him. A heartbeat later, he hears a guttural, grating, inhuman voice speak:

"I have had an eye on you, Witcher, ever since you set foot in my little kingdom. You think you can fool me so easily, Butcher of Blaviken? I, who is one of the oldest werewolves alive, who has eluded measly monster-hunters such as yourself for centuries?"

A shiver runs down Geralt's spine.

This is no ordinary werewolf. This is Kraus Evil-eye, the Black Doom! And there is a reason why he has been able to claim that particular title. 

Kraus was created many centuries back. And he quickly developed a strong and insatiable taste for human flesh. To add to that, his speed and agility, his savage strength and his skills in disappearing for years on end and covering up his tracks have all helped him hoodwink Witchers and mages alike and continue his vile, unholy existence upon the Continent.

And now, Geralt is at his mercy.

"Fitting, don't you think, pup? That you, the infamous Butcher, die at the hands of the even more feared, even more dreaded and abhorred Black Doom?"

Geralt feels Kraus retrieve the claws of his front right paw where they were digging into his right shoulder a moment ago, gouging out the flesh there, making blood gush out like a river and drench Geralt's right side. He then feels the claws scraping against his throat, not yet breaking the skin there.

"One little slit in that pretty jugular vein of yours, and imagine..."

_But Kraus never gets to finish the sentence._

Something heavy slams into the black werewolf's side, flinging him away from Geralt. The huge midnight-black body skitters away, freeing Geralt from underneath its leaden weight. He struggles to inhale several huge gulps of air even as the blood gushing out of both his shoulders and lower back makes him feel slightly dizzy and numb.

Geralt forces himself to turn his head an infinitesimal amount to his right.

In the midst of the clearing that is now dappled by the gibbous moon sitting high up in the sky, there stands another wolf.

_Another werewolf._

This one's coat is of a light chocolate-brown shade, and its back is turned to Geralt, so he cannot see its face, nor can he tell if it's a male or a female. Its stature is lean and lithe, but the rippling muscles bespeak great reserves of underlying strength. It stands panting slightly while watching the body of Kraus roll away, but before the black werewolf can so much as lift his head, the brown one bounds forward at a terrifying speed and pounces on him, crushing him to the ground. 

But despite the brown werewolf not wanting to give even an inch of ground to Kraus, it is clear that Kraus has the upper hand thanks to his sheer strength and experience. Kraus is a battle-hardened, scarred old monster, and he has fought so many times, though admittedly never against a fellow werewolf. The brown werewolf is younger and more agile, possessing greater speed and flitting from one stance to another in the blink of an eye, but Kraus keeps swatting it away like it were an insignificant, irksome fly. The older werewolf laughs, and then speaks, derision clear in his tone:

"Is this the best you have got, child?"

He lunges forward, almost playful in his movements, and the force with which he strikes at the brown wolf makes it slam into the ground painfully hard. A moment later, his fangs sink deep into the flanks of his opponent, making it yowl painfully.

Geralt's heart gives a painful twinge as he watches the younger wolf struggle to free itself from the jaws of Kraus. 

_And then, for one fleeting moment, their eyes meet._

_Cornflower-blue eyes glitter like sapphires as they stare into Geralt's own amber-gold ones. They reflect nothing but pain, and a desperate plea to Geralt._

"Run, Geralt! Run!"

Geralt's body feels sluggish as he desperately claws at the ground in order to lever himself up on his trembling arms. He almost cries out in pain as the torn tissues of his shoulders are jostled. He grits his teeth, willing his body to move. He needs to get to the saddlebag that lies discarded a little distance away. He needs his potions.

_He needs his potions, and needs them right now, if he is to save himself, and save this ..._

_... this chocolate-brown werewolf with cornflower-blue eyes ..._

_... this -- this -- whoever this is -- who is trying to save his life at the cost of its own ..._

He hears a desperate, broken howl escape the brown werewolf as again and again Kraus batters it against the ground, against tree trunks. As he crawls, inch by inch, towards the saddlebag, Geralt cannot help but turn to see how torn flesh hangs off the sides of the brown wolf, how it is frothing blood at the mouth, how there is blood pooling all around it as Kraus clamps down his lethal jaws around its back, picks it up high in the air, and worries it like it were a weightless bone in a dog's mouth. 

"RUN GERAAAALT ! RUUUUUUUNNNNNNN ..."

Geralt doesn't even realize he has begun sobbing as the piercing cry of the brown wolf hits him.

_How desperately he is trying to save me ... how staunchly he fights for me, so I may live even as life ebbs out of him ..._

With a resounding crash, Kraus hurls his opponent to the ground, knowing that the fight is over. That he has won.

He raises his snout to the sky, and lets out a long wail -- a howl of triumph that reverberates through the deserted landscape.

_And summoning its last vestiges of strength, the brown wolf darts forward, lightning fast, and its fangs close around Kraus' throat._

Kraus is taken by surprise. But even then, he flails, trying to fling away the younger wolf that hangs onto his throat with its fangs closed in a vice-like hold around his carotid artery. His claws ravage and tear to shreds the flesh on the brown wolf's body, but it does not relent. 

Eventually, after what seems to Geralt like an eternity but in reality cannot have been more than a couple of minutes, the ebony wolf stops struggling. His throat is torn, and blood gurgles out of the wound, and he goes limps against his opponent's body.

The bodies of both the werewolves crash to the ground.

****************************************************************************************

The first thing that Jaskier's groggy mind registers as he comes to, is pain.

_Pain. Pain. Pain._

Unendurable, unimaginable agony. Like someone has poured fire in his veins. Like a monster has decided to rip every strip of tissue, every muscle, every nerve, every artery and nerve in his body into shreds. Like someone has decided to grind his bones to dust.

A whimper leaves his lips before he can help it.

A heartbeat later, he feels extremely warm, extremely soft and gentle hands come to rest on his forehead and on his chest. Very lightly, very tenderly. So as not to hurt him. So as not to aggravate his injuries.

"Please don't move."

_That gravelly, rumbling voice he would know anywhere._

Jaskier's eyes fly open.

_To meet concerned amber-gold orbs staring down at him._

_To see the beloved face of a darling Witcher looming above him, white hair unkempt and wild, tear-streaked face twisted in anguish._

"I know it hurts, Jasky. I know", the Witcher shushes the bard, gently brushing the pads of his thumb against Jaskier's cheekbones. Jaskier lets out another whimper, but this one is for a different reason.

"G-Ge..."

"No, don't try to speak yet."

This voice is brusque and feminine, and the tone clipped. But Jaskier can tell that that is because the owner of the voice is worried for his well-being.

"You were nearly dead, Jaskier. I had to weave a very complex mesh of healing spells to cocoon you in, and they will take a fairly long time to work through you, knitting all the tissues, nerves, veins and arteries. Not to mention you lost a lot of blood, and there is really no way I can help replenish that. You need rest, and you need to not speak, let alone cry, because your vocal chords are still too tender from the battering they took from Kraus' jaws", Yennefer says, even as she sits down next to him on the bed and gently wipes away a stray tear running down Jaskier's face.

Jaskier stares wide-eyed at her. When Yen clasps his hand in hers, he squeezes her hand, for there is no other way he can express his gratitude to her.

"You are safe now, Jaskier. You are in my home. Geralt summoned me through the Xenovox, and I came as quickly as I could. There will be no lasting damage, I promise. But you need several days of absolute bed rest."

Jaskier gives her a tiny nod, and squeezes her hand again. She smiles.

_Meanwhile, Geralt has buried his face into the pillow next to Jaskier's head and begun sobbing._

"Here we go", sighs Yen, then places a hand on the weeping Witcher's shoulder, "Yes, yes, you are an oaf and you commit egregious follies and you push people you love and who love you back away because you are terrified you'll hurt them and because you are generally just a pig-headed, obstinate dolt. Now come on, enough crying ... I can only take so much of you soaking my pillow-covers with your tears."

Geralt just cries harder. 

Jaskier tries to turn his head, to scoot closer to Geralt. Geralt somehow guesses what he is trying to do, and moves closer to Jaskier, his tear-soaked face now pressed to Jaskier's temple, his warm breaths scorching Jaskier's cheek. Jaskier's eyes automatically slip closed at the touch, and tears leak down from underneath his eyelids. Geralt's arm is draped over Jaskier's chest, anchoring him. His chest rises and falls in unison with Geralt's as they draw shaky breaths.

"What am I going to do with these idiots?", Yen sighs again, but a fond smile tugging at her lips mars the effect, "You two stay right here, and don't move. I'm going to go see if Triss is done preparing dinner."

**************************************************************************************

When dinner arrives, Geralt stubbornly refuses to eat a single morsel before he has fed Jaskier.

Very carefully, Triss and Geralt help Jaskier sit up halfway, propped up against a mountain of soft pillows. Jaskier feels a bit woozy, but the spells Yen has cast are strong and they hold, and he feels strength trickling back into his limbs. But Geralt absolutely refuses to allow him to hold the platter. Instead, the platter is balanced on a very low coffee table that is placed on the bed over Jaskier's outstretched legs, and Geralt busies himself with feeding Jaskier.

Jaskier can tell Geralt is hurt. His movements are jerky and he looks uncomfortable, but not a word of complaint leaves his lips. He also does not speak to Jaskier -- heck, he does not even meet Jaskier's eyes most of the time -- instead keeping his gaze downcast as he tries to take care of every little need of Jaskier's.

Leaning forward, Geralt ties a napkin around Jaskier's neck. He meticulously tears the freshly baked, warm loaf of bread into small strips. He picks up the steaming bowl of creamy chicken soup steeped in carrots and potatoes and dunks a big spoon into it. Before he holds the spoonfuls of soup to Jaskier's lips, he blows on them to cool the soup down slightly.

Jaskier nearly forgets to blink as he watches Geralt raptly. 

It is not as if he has not been taken care of by Geralt before. Many a night, a feverish Jaskier has dozed off into a restless stupor in his Witcher's arms. 

_But this tenderness ... this ... this attention to details ... this care ... as if Jaskier were something precious, fragile, breakable ... this is new._

When Jaskier is done eating, Geralt wipes his mouth clean with the napkin. Triss brings him a basin of cool water and a clean washcloth. Geralt dips the washcloth into the water, wrings it, then begins sponging Jaskier's face, neck, arms. His touches are soft, hesitant, and Jaskier is bewildered by the way Geralt takes the utmost care to not put pressure on any of his wounds as he sponges his bard clean. Finally, the Witcher strips Jaskier of the shirt he has been wearing, and helps him don a new shirt, taking care to jostle him as little as possible.

When all is done, Geralt eases Jaskier onto his back on the mattress.

"Ger--alt?"

"Shhh", and sword-calloused fingers gently press down on Jaskier's lips, "Please. Your voice ... it needs to heal."

The words come out in such a desperately beseeching tone that Jaskier feels tears prick his eyes.

"I don't know what I'll do if I cannot hear you sing again."

The two men stare at each other, their eyes wide and shining with unshed tears, until Geralt lets out a choked sob and leans forward, resting his forehead on Jaskier's. Jaskier sighs and leans into the touch. He feels safe, and happy.

"Geralt?", Yen calls from the doorway, "Time for your dinner."

"Once Jasky falls asleep."

Jaskier almost starts at the old endearment from the Witcher's lips.

"Geralt", Yen's tone turns admonishing, "You haven't eaten anything in the last two days, and heaven knows you need nourishment after the bruising and battering you yourself took from Kraus."

Geralt sighs. He keeps his eyes averted from Jaskier's, because he knows the bard is scowling at him, silently berating him for neglecting his own health.

"I promise I shall eat tonight. Just ... just give me a few minutes, Yenna."

When Yen leaves, Geralt hums a lullaby he learned from his Da, Vesemir, in Kaer Morhen. Jaskier stares slack-jawed at him, for he has never ever heard his Witcher sing. Geralt's voice is deep and rumbling, and not at all unpleasant, and the tune is sweet and soft and lilting. Soon, it lulls Jaskier into a peaceful slumber.

That night, Geralt lies down on the bed, curls himself around Jaskier's frame, mindful of the bard's injuries, and drifts off to sleep.

***************************************************************************************

Yennefer and Triss deem Jaskier and Geralt fit to travel a week later.

In this one week, Geralt has waited on Jaskier hand and foot, despite the bard's increasingly vocal protests, and has pampered him to no end. Inwardly, Jaskier is giddy with happiness, but outwardly, he has put on a show of fond exasperation at the Witcher's ministrations.

On the sixth day, Geralt insisted on giving Jaskier a bath. Jaskier blushed, but eventually relented. And it constricted his heart in a weird concoction of bittersweet emotions to feel his Witcher's hands touch him almost reverently, scrub him clean with pumice stone and soft soap, lather shampoo on his hair and scrape his scalp and massage his back and forehead and shoulders, even place a hand on top of his eyes to protect them as his hair was rinsed clean. He felt himself turn into jelly as every last remnant of soreness and fatigue oozed out of him thanks to the very warm water of the tub and thanks to Geralt taking care of him so intimately, showering him with love and tenderness. He let Geralt take over, his body going limp in Geralt's arms. He closed his eyes and rested his head on Geralt's shoulder as the Witcher picked him up bridal-style from the tub, then toweled him dry and helped him put on freshly laundered clothes. 

Geralt carried Jaskier back to Yennefer's guest bedroom. Lowering him impossibly gently onto the mattress, Geralt fished out the salves and ointments that Yennefer had prescribed and began applying them onto Jaskier's bruises and gashes and lacerations, his fingers feather-soft and gentle beyond measure. Jaskier followed every move of his Witcher with huge, shining eyes. Geralt took a soft ivory comb and brushed the still wet, chocolate-brown strands of Jaskier's hair. Finally, he tucked him underneath blankets, and placed a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Sleep, Jasky."

"Stay?", Jaskier croaked.

"Always."

********************************************************************************************

Triss provides Jaskier with a potion that is supposed to help him fight against the overwhelming need to transform during full moons. It is still in an experimental stage, she proclaims. But if nothing else, it will hopefully help reduce the number of hours during each full moon night that he is forced to remain in his wolf form. There is, as yet, no cure for this, but Jaskier thanks her profusely for her help.

Jaskier cannot help but notice Geralt's eyes sparkling with pride as he tells his three friends that he has never once hurt a human in his wolf shape. That he only ever turns during full moons, and although he has to hunt to keep himself fed during those nights, he has stringently confined himself to wild animals as his prey, and if absolutely compelled to, then a few domestic animals. 

His three friends tell him they are not surprised. At all. Because this is their Jaskier, and Jaskier will never ever hurt another human. They know it, and that there is no need for explanations. 

Jaskier feels as if his heart is swelling at the same time that something is breaking inside him. He looks at the three of them teary-eyed, and a question he has long suppressed tumbles out of his lips.

"So ... you all don't think I am a monster?"

Geralt lets out a low growl. Yen and Triss shake their heads in exasperation.

"Jaskier, do you even hear yourself speaking? Do you realize how stupid you sound?", Yennefer asks him in her usual razor-sharp, no-nonsense manner.

"You are the farthest thing from a monster I know, Jaskier. Well, other than Geralt and Yenna", Triss says, confident and unwavering as ever in her loyalty towards her friends.

Jaskier turns timid eyes towards Geralt. Geralt's eyes blaze.

"You are the bravest, kindest, strongest, most resilient human I have ever known", Geralt says, and Jaskier cannot help but marvel at how the once-taciturn Witcher has managed to become so eloquent, "Anyone who deems you a monster is a monster himself."

Jaskier tries to blink back the tears, but they fall anyway. And when Geralt moves to put an arm around his shoulder, he curls into Geralt's side, and buries his face in Geralt's shoulder, and cries some more.

***************************************************************************************

Triss and Yen hug each of them tightly before letting them go. The sorceresses make them promise they won't hesitate to seek help whenever they are in need of it, and that they will come visit as often as they can. 

"Make sure you don't do something as brain-dead as last time, okay? Grow up and take responsibility for your actions, and try to know what's good for you. Or rather, who's good for you", Yen nearly yells at Geralt, adding a glare for good measure. Geralt nods mutely, and clasps both her hands in his, his expression full of gratitude.

And then, Yen pulls Jaskier aside, and whispers, "Take care of him, will you? I know you are the one who needs more care right now, because of your still-healing wounds, but you and I both know how he is. His heart will know no other, Jaskier. Do please make sure you hold it carefully in your hands, for it is a precious thing."

Jaskier gulps, and nods, and tries very hard not to cry.

************************************************************************************

"May I ask when it happened?"

Jaskier starts, his head whipping up to look at Geralt. They are sitting around a roaring fire they have managed to stoke at their campsite thanks to plenty of dry twigs and leaves the forest floor is strewn with. It has been two days since they left Yen's. They have just finished their dinner. Geralt has made sure to cook Jaskier's favourite mutton-stew, though the bard knows mutton is expensive and the Witcher has spent lavishly on the ingredients. He has even purchased lots of veggies and spices from the nearby market. Jaskier knows Geralt is hell-bent on trying to maintain as nutritious a diet as he can afford for Jaskier, so that the bard is able to heal better and quicker.

Jaskier knows what it is that Geralt is asking about.

"Barely a week after you ... after we ... parted ways."

"After I sent you away. To fend for yourself."

Jaskier gulps, nods, but says nothing. His eyes dip down.

"I was careless. Should not have tried to travel after dark. I was lucky I escaped. But by that time, the damage had been done."

He quickly looks to his side when he hears Geralt gnashing his teeth.

"If I had not sent you away ... if I had stayed by your side ..."

And now, Jaskier can see the tear-tracks down the Witcher's noble face, glistening in the firelight.

A warm hand comes to rest atop Geralt's knuckles. The Witcher's face crumples, and a strangled sob escapes him. He keels forward, giving in to the sobs.

Jaskier says nothing. He scoots forward, and scoops up the wretchedly sobbing Witcher in his arms. Rocks him back and forth. Presses his face deep into his chest. Rubs soothingly up and down his arms and his back.

Geralt continues to sob. For several minutes. Until he is absolutely spent. And then he sags against Jaskier, and they sit like that for a long while.

"Forgive me."

Jaskier smiles through his own veil of tears, then plants a kiss on top of Geralt's messy white hair.

"I already have."

The words are followed by another long stretch of silence. Geralt burrows deeper into Jaskier's chest, and Jaskier holds him in a tighter embrace.

"Ai--lag--oo."

"Huh?"

Geralt has just said something, but it has been completely muffled by his face buried in the folds of Jaskier's shirt.

"Geralt? Dear heart?", Jaskier pries the Witcher off his chest, and tilts his face up with a knuckle underneath his chin.

Geralt stares up at him with eyes full of pain.

_That, and something else. Apprehension, Jaskier realizes._

"Geralt?"

"I love you!"

Jaskier's breath hitches as his mind registers just what Geralt has blurted out. He gapes down at Geralt with huge eyes. Geralt's lips shake, and fresh tears race down his cheeks, and he continues to stare up at Jaskier as if nothing else exists in this world for him but the man in front of his eyes.

And the next moment, Jaskier swoops down and claims Geralt's lips in his own. 

"I love you too, hon", he mumbles into the kiss.


End file.
